Belle's Story

Chapter Five

                Later that morning, I went for a walk, sure that Belle would sleep for a few more hours. When I returned, she was sitting on her Chippendale chair next to the telephone with the album on her lap. She dressed for the occasion, wearing a pale blue Lord & Taylor suit from the 1950s or early 60s; I wasn’t sure which.

                “Belle, how did you do that? You were so sick last night? You look, well, perfect.”

                “I look far from perfect dear. She pressed her hand into her side. But, I do feel cleaner. Joanie came over and helped me take a bath. We even shampooed my hair.”

                “Well you look refreshed. And your hair smells like lavender. I’ll bring you some tea. Do you have any pictures of Mae in there?” I motioned toward the photo album.

“I’m not sure, dear. Let’s take a look.”

Belle opened the album and we began looking at pictures. As we turned the pages of the album, I asked who each person was. Belle replied, “That’s Cousin Phillip.” or “That’s Frieda, my older sister” or “That’s your mother.” We must have looked at 300 photos (none of which were Mae). She gave me a short story to accompany each face, getting the most joy talking about my uncle, Lawrence.

Lawrence started his career as an engineer and then went to law school. After completing law school, he pioneered the area of environmental law. His personal life was not as successful. Lawrence’s first marriage ended in an ugly divorce with sons, Eric and Josh, disengaged from the family. He and his new wife still owned an apartment in midtown Manhattan, but spent most of their time in either Scottsdale, Arizona or the Catskills enjoying scotch and solitude. Lawrence had drifted farther and farther away from his mother, but Belle adored him and spent thirty minutes sharing with me how Lawrence’s work on the Bhopal chemical disaster revolutionized international law. I remembered Bhopal and had heard the tale so many times, its memory had mold.

As Belle worked her way through the Saga of Lawrence in India, I began wondering why my grandmother seemed to relish her male relatives so much more than the female ones. She could spend hours praising her son, but comments about Mom were always peppered with criticism. It seemed so quizzical to me. Did her feelings bleed into my generation? Were Will, Josh and Eric superior in her mind to Victoria and me? If so, she never gave as much of a hint of her bias.

                “Grandma?”

                “Yes, dear?”

                “How come you talk about Ivan and Lawrence, but never about Mom or any of the girls in your family?”

                “What do you mean, Deborahling? I talk about you and your sister and mother all the time. I'm quite proud of all of you.”

                I didn't want to argue with my grandmother, but I was really curious why she favored my uncle so much. “Grandma, you really don't talk about Mom the way you do with Uncle Lawrence. Mom's done some amazing things. Do you know how hard it must have been for her to start a career as an attorney in the fifties? She must have faced all kinds of discrimination. She told me once that she never learned to type or make coffee because she didn't want to be pegged with secretarial work. I always thought that was a pretty cunning move on her part.”

                “Of course I know about Carrie's career. But she stopped work to raise a family dear, so there just wasn't much to talk about there.”'

                “Well she went back to work after Dad died. That couldn't have been easy.”

                “No, I suppose it wasn't. She did just fine though. She was lucky that your father, God rest his soul, had so many good connections in Louisville.”